


Sam Wilson: Psychiatrist, Hypnotherapist, Matchmaker

by BookHaven



Series: Stony Trope Party [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, But not Marvel Civil War, Civil War, Historical slavery and racism, Hypnosis therapy, M/M, Post-Captain America: The First Avenger, Post-Iron Man 2, Pre-Avengers (2012), Psychiatrist Sam, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 09:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8572744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookHaven/pseuds/BookHaven
Summary: Tony Stark and Steve Rogers share the same psychologist but that is not the only connection they share. Their lives are intrinsically linked in this lifetime and all the ones before it. Historical AU + Reincarnation





	1. Chapter 1: A Boy Named Callum

**Author's Note:**

> I’m so excited for this story because it’s based off a crazy true story my gen psych professor told the class four years ago that I still remember it today. Timeline-wise, this is post-IM1 and post-CA1 but pre-Avengers. I also changed Sam’s day job to suit the story.

“Dr. Wilson your 11:30 is here” Sam looked up from his next patient’s case files that he was reviewing.

“Thank you Sharon, send him in” Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, CEO of Stark Industries and Iron Man. Saying Sam was surprised when he got this case is an understatement. 

Mr. Stark has been having weekly session with Sam for the past six months now. The prickly man refused to speak during the first session after stating he was only here to fulfill an obligation to a friend. But while Mr. Stark is a certifiable genius, a mime he is not. And with each session, Sam was able to slowly but surely chip at his walls. Found that beneath the public bravado he mastered, was someone with insecurities and trust issues taller than Stark tower. All stemming from years of abuse from his father, betrayals from those around him and the constant public slander from the media. It’s a wonder how the man stayed relatively sane. Emphasis on the _relatively_. Only for the proverbial bomb in the form of Afghanistan to drop on top of everything. 

Which is why Sam is currently taking Mr. Stark’s case. Sam specializes in PTSD and trauma for soldiers. Help them make sense of what they went through and try to help them find their place in the world again. 

“Dr. Wilson” Mr. Stark said as he plopped himself down on the chaise and stretched out his legs.

“Good afternoon Mr. Stark. Have you put any thought in about we talked about last time?” Tony didn’t stop toying with the pendulum on the coffee table at his question but Sam could see the tense lines in his hands.

“You’re going to have to be more specific Doc, we talked about a lot of things” Tony was deflecting but Sam wasn’t going to be deterred.

“About undergoing regression hypnotherapy”

“Ah right, the whole make me think I’m a chicken and cluck around method. Tell me, how is that supposed to improve my mental state?”

“Not quite but don’t tempt me” Sam replied dryly. “I’m not going to make you think or act any differently than you normally would. Regression hypnotherapy merely allows your conscious thoughts to take a backseat so that your subconscious can be examined. Mr. Stark, you’ve improved significantly since we’ve started but you still comment on how you feel incomplete, unbalanced and you’re not sure why. Regression hypnotherapy can help you find out the reason why so that you can begin the healing process”.

Tony remained silent, eyes not meeting Sam’s as he tossed and caught the stress ball up and down. “So no chicken clucking?”

“No chicken clucking”

Tony sat up and took off his sunglasses. “Alright then Doc, knock yourself out, though I guess in this situation, you’ll be knocking me out”

“I’m glad you willing to take this step Mr. Stark. If you could sit back, find a comfortable position and listen to my instructions. It would help with the experience if you just feel. Try not to think or analyze or use your left brain, just experience and you can analyze later” Tony quirked an eyebrow at him.

“You do know who you’re talking to, right?”

“I also know that you are a genius and are capable of accomplishing unheard of feats, meaning getting hypnotized should be a minor challenge for you”.

“Damn, you’re good Doc”.

“Sit back and relax Mr. Stark. You’re using up your minutes”.

_Close your eyes, focus on your breathing_

_Imagine you can breathe out the tension and stress in your body. Imagine you can breathe in all the energy around you. Breathe out stress, breathe in energy._

_Relax deeper and deeper. Relax the muscle in your face, of your neck and shoulders, down to your arms, through your body to your legs. Letting go all tension and tightness as you go._

_Let go, let my voice carry you deeper and deeper into relaxation. Let go of any thoughts or background noise and distraction. Let them fade away into a deep state of peace and calm._

_Visualize and imagine a beautiful light above your head, it is a wonderful healing light. It gets rid of discomfort and disease everywhere in your body. And it is a relaxing light connecting above and around you. You can choose the light’s color or colors._

_Let this beautiful light inside you from above your head, illuminating your brain and spine and healing your organs. And flowing down from above to below, touching every cell of your body. Every fiber, every tissue, with peace and love._

_And imagine the light is surrounding the outside of your body in a beautiful cocoon of light, protecting you completely._

_In a few minutes, I am going to count down from ten and you are going to be in a space so deep that your mind is not going to be limited by space or time. So deep, you can remember every experience you ever had, whether in this body, or any other body or even in between. So deep, that you can experience all levels of your multidimensional self because you are far greater than the limitations of your body or brain._

_10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1_

_Imagine a garden. This garden is your sanctuary, where you can remember everything. Let us start with something small, a childhood memory. When I count down from five, you will recall a childhood memory. Any memory, good or bad, and let that memory come into complete focus._

_5…4…3…2…1_

\---

Callum woke up to a rooster’s crow in the distance. He slowly lifted himself out of bed and gazed out the window, taking in his family’s plantation. His family owned the largest plantation in Virginia and utilized the highest amount of Negroes as well. His father would always say how one day, all of this would belong to Callum so he had to make sure he continued his education so that he would be ready to take over. But Callum didn’t want to own a plantation, not really. He wanted to spend his days tinkering with new mechanisms and gears and learning how to make things work faster and more efficiently. But Callum knew his place in the world since he was even younger than he is now. And he knew there was no fighting it.

He rung the bell for his personal valet and proceeded to get ready for the day. 

“Young master Callum, you rang?” Wilson is the family’s old butler and one of Callum’s closest confidants. He was always willing to sneak him old tools and parts for Callum to toy with.

“Good morn’ Wilson, could you please prepare the bath? I would like to freshen up before going to the stables”

“Right away young master” While Wilson was preoccupied with the bath, Callum sneaked a book about fairy tales into his sack, making sure it was hidden beneath his schematics and other papers.

When Callum was finally set, he made his way towards the stables on the west side of the main house. Looking back and forth, he checked to see if there were any workers or slaves in the vicinity before slipping into one of the empty horse stalls. Already waiting for him, was a young Negro sitting among the hay.

“Terrance! I see you were able to get away” Callum greeted happily. Terrance was one of the few boys around his age that was willing to talk to him, willing to treat him like a regular boy. Callum liked Terrance, even though he was a slave.

“Callum, you’re late”, Terrance responded blandly.

“Come on now Terrance, is that anyway to greet your teacher?”

“No, it’s how one greets a lazy friend” Callum merely smiled at that. Having a friend was nice, he didn’t have very many, or any at all.

“Scoot over, we must get started right away, I have double lessons today, so I have not much time”. And with that, Tony pulled out the book of fairy tales and began to go over the letters he taught previously.

It was in moments like these that Callum forgets who he is, who Terrance is and what is expected of him for the future. It was moments like these that Callum was just Callum, a boy teaching his friend how to read. But Callum was a smart boy, and he knew that those moments don’t last forever.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING BOY?!” Both Terrance and Callum jumped, scrambling to hide evidence of their sins but it was too late, they were caught. 

Standing before them, in a flash of white-hot rage, was Mister Gregory Valor, master of Grand Valor Plantations and Callum’s father. Master Gregory grabbed his son’s arm, dragging him out of the stall. 

“You pathetic excuse of a son, how dare you teach this dirty worthless Nigga how to read! You make a mockery of me, of this family. I could have you killed for breaking the law”, his father roared, spit flying with every harsh word. Callum curled into himself, knowing that there was nothing he could do to prevent the inevitable. Even through he mentally prepared himself, he couldn’t help but gasp when the first blow of his father’s belt met his back. And then again, And again. Each searing crack ripped through his shirt and broke open his skin into a bloody mess.

_Pain, so much pain…Stop…Stop…Please Father…make it stop!_

\---

_5…4…3…2…1_

Tony woke up with a gasp. Wrapping his arms around his back to feel the raised edges of the scars only to find nothing. He vaguely realized that he wasn’t breathing and tried to regain control of his body.

“Tony, are you okay?” Sam reached out a hand and grasped his shoulder, eyes wide with concern.

“What the fuck was that?” Tony spat out. His heart was beating wildly and he could feel his hand shaking.

“I merely asked you to recall a childhood memory. Good or Bad. Though I’m going to assume by your reaction, it wasn’t a very pleasant memory. I’m sorry that it made you feel uncomfortable” Sam tried to explain in a level voice, carefully to not agitate the man further. But Tony did not look appeased.

“That was not a fucking memory”

“What do you mean?” Tony fisted his hands in his hair and struggled to formulate a coherent explanation.

“I mean that unless I was born in the 1840’s, that wasn’t my memory” Sam looked taken aback by that.

“Describe to me what you saw”. Tony glared at Sam defiantly, but his desire to make sense of what he saw won out.

“There was a boy, named Callum he was probably around 12 or 13 years old. He was the son of the plantation owner and this was back when enslaving human beings was an acceptable past time in America. He had a butler, Wilson, and was secretly friends with the stable boy, Terrence. Callum was teaching him how to read as slaves weren’t allowed to learn. And then that endeavor didn’t end well” Tony spits out bitterly. “And it felt so _real_. The sounds and smells, I can still feel the scratchy bed sheets and I can remember how his breakfast tasted. It felt like a memory but there’s no way that it is _mines_ ”.

Throughout his story, Sam listened with a cautiously blank face. When Tony finished his mini rant, he drooped back into the chaise and gestured towards Sam.

“Well? Aren’t you going to explain what you did to me?”

“I didn’t do anything other than guide you towards an old memory” Tony tensed with annoyance, he opened his mouth to refute him but Sam cut him off. “Mr. Stark, what do you know about past lives?

“You’re joking right. You’re talking about the whole ridiculous unfounded theory that human beings have multiple past lives because of reincarnation. Are you telling me I’ve been seeing a shrink that believes in reincarnation?” 

“It’s not completely unfounded. There have been quite a few cases that use regression hypnotherapy to unlock the memories of a past life, in order to resolve a current conflict. There was one confirmed case of a man who had severe migraines and could not determine its source and using regression hypnotherapy, he found that he was shot in the head in a past life. When he came to terms with that, the migraines stopped”. Sam tried to appeal to Tony’s logical nature. “For some reason, when prompted to revisit a childhood memory, your subconscious recalled this particular past life. Something must have occurred in that life that is continuing to affect you today. And if we can dissect those memories, maybe it can help you achieve balance in your life”

Tony took his time contemplating Sam’s words but Sam knew that he won him over.

“Alright, I’ll bite, what does being the son of a plantation owner have to do with the fuck up that is my life?”

“This process actually takes several hours to complete and is done across multiple sessions, so I can’t give you a definitive answer until we explore this past life more” Tony’s face contorted in a grimace.

“So I’ll have to go through this again?”

“I’m afraid so, Mr. Stark” And just like that, Tony’s public mask slipped right own and Sam knew this session was over.

“Right, well then Hypno Doc, I’ll see you next session”, Tony stood, adjusted his suit and sunglasses and strutted his way out.

\---

“Dr. Wilson, you have a new case” 

“Thank you Sharon, if you could please put it on my desk, I’ll go over it tomorrow morning”, Sam was exhausted, his schedule was booked with back to back appointments and he just wanted to go home, climb into bed and marathon the Hobbit movies while eating cold pizza. 

“Doctor, I think you might want to read over this now”, Sharon pressed, eyebrows furrowed in and stance firm. Sam quirked an eyebrow at her, but took the file nonetheless.

 **Name:** Steven Grant Rogers  
**DOB:** 07/04/1918  
**Age:** 94 (biologically 27)  
**Bio:** Steven Grant Rogers, aka Captain America and leader of the Howling Commandos fought in WWII and presumably died in the line of fire. Recently found in the Arctic and revived. Rogers struggles with re-acclimating with the current world and is showing signs of depression and PTSD.

“Well fuck” Looks like Orlando Bloom and cold pizza is going to have to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam's monologue about visualizing and relaxing to begin the hypnotherapy was borrowed from Dr. Brian Weiss who is the leader of regression hypnotherapy. 
> 
> I wanted to make this chapter longer but it is 5:30am where I am and I have yet to go to bed but I was so determined to at least get this first chapter up. So hope you all enjoy it, Good night! (Or morning? Anyways I'm rambling so I'm going to sleep)


	2. A Union Dissolved

_This time we’ll revisit a time when you’re a little older…_

Callum picked up the barrel of the revolver, tweaking it so make it more accurate, more deadly. This was his life for the past few months. Improving weapons, making sleeker designs for saddles, whatever task that his father is throwing on his worktable.

_Preparing for war._

War. It’s a preposterous thought. Not long after having fought for freedom from Great Britain, we’re on the verge of fighting each other. The stirrings and discontent were there for years. But that was something that existed since America’s conception. It was nothing new. The South used slaves as a means of business and fueling agriculture and the North holds all the blue collar and manufacturing. The North does not need slaves and the South does. That’s was how it always was and that was how it should always be. At least that is what he grew up learning. 

A flash of memory invaded his mind, of a young, dark-skinned boy, lips moving as if he was tasting the words he was speaking, dark chocolate eyes seeking his for approval. But it was only just that, a flash, just like the boy he knew so long ago.

The crackling of the furnace jarred Callum out of his silent musings. He refocused himself on his newest project. A rapid fire gun that would spit out several rounds of ammunition using a hand crank. Could easily mow down an entire row of soldiers with a single gun. It was something Callum hoped that would never be needed.

_Valors are futurists, Callum. We prepare for moments like these and seize it._ Is what his father would always say. 

But there’s not going to be a moment to seize. The cotton states of the South may distain the haughty attitude the North wields but in the end, they’re Americans too. They wouldn’t just leave. As a Virginia native, he preferred Bell of the Constitutional Union Party over the Republican’s Lincoln but he wasn’t going to renounce his American citizenship over it. 

After the November election when Lincoln was sworn in, America held its breath. Waiting to see how South Carolina would react. It was as if America was clutching a grenade close to her bosom and refused to let go despite the steady ticking that grew faster and faster. But a month went by and nothing moved and time continued to almost another month and than it was less than a week until Christmas. Everyone in Virginia placed all thoughts of secession in the back of their minds and focused on the holidays and gift-giving. At least, that is what Callum’s thoughts consisted of. He was one and twenty now, of age to pursue his hobbies that he long kept secret. Honed his technical crafting skills until he was considered a prodigy among his peers. And he was planning to use his skills to create gifts for those whom he cared for. He intends to make a brooch for his dear mother, the one that she has been eyeing for years and maybe a new pocket watch for Wilson, his has been rusting around the edges. With that, he let all the silly thoughts of war go, there was no room for it in his workshop.

And maybe that was South Carolina’s intention all along. Because on December 20, 1860, America will be irrevocably changed the bloodshed of her children. 

# CHARLESTON

  


## MERCURY

  


###  **

EXTRA:

**

#### 

_Passed unanimously at 1.15 o’clock, P.M. December 20th 1860_  
AN ORDINANCE

####  _To dissolve the Union between the State of South Carolina and the other States united with her under the compact entitled “The Constitution of the United States of America”_

_We, the People of the State of South Carolina, in Convention assembled, do declare and ordain, and it is hereby declared and ordained,_

That the Ordinance adopted by us in Convention on the twenty-third day of May, in the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and eighty-eight, whereby the Constitution of the United States of America was ratified, and also, all Acts and parts of Acts of the General Assembly of this State, ratifying amendments of the said Constitution, are hereby repealed; and that the union now subsisting between South Carolina and other States, under the name of the “The United States of America” is hereby dissolved

****

#### THE UNION IS DISSOLVED!

#### 

****

\---

_5…4…3…2…1_

The second awakening was less startling than the first now that Tony knew what to expect. But it didn’t take away from the hollow feeling. As if he was somehow detached from this world, floating as if he belongs somewhere else, was somebody else. 

And then the implications of that memory struck a cold line through his spine and he closed his eyes in pain. Even in his past life, his hands were soaked in blood. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dr. Wilson, sitting cross-legged with his damn pencil poised to write down another life mistake to add atop his Everest of mistakes. 

“Mr. Stark, how are feeling?”

“Absolutely peachy Doc. Fucking fantabulous” 

“Would you like to share with the class what you saw,” Sam replied, letting Tony’s anger roll off him. There was a beat of silence before Tony leaned his head on the back of the chaise and sighed.

“The Ye Old version of me made weapons as a personal hobby. Though I’m not sure why I’m so surprised, My legacy is nothing more than death and guns”, Tony said, hatred seeping through every syllable. 

“Is that what happened in your memory? Or a conclusion that you made yourself?”

“It was pre-emptive planning for a war. The naive dumbass honestly thought that they wouldn’t be used. Personal experience tells me that that won’t be the case. That’s all I am good for, being a Merchant of Death”. Tony gripped his sunglasses so hard they shattered in hand. The broken glass cutting into this skin, blood slowly leaking and made a trail down his hand. Sam let out a sigh and grabbed the tissue box.

“If you get blood on the carpet, you’re paying for the cleaning” Sam remarked as he handed him the tissues. He stood and found the first aid box in the cabinets and brought it with him as he sat next to Tony.

“I know that you aren’t going to believe me, not fully. But your past is only a reflection of your future, if you carry that mirror wherever you go. Mr. Stark, you are more than the weapons you made, the mistakes you carry. And just because you made some bad decisions, it doesn’t make you a bad person. There is good in your heart. The kind of good that funds scholarships allowing underprivileged to get an education they can only dream about. That provides aid for families displaced by war and terrorism overseas. Your past is your past, that cannot be changed. But it doesn’t have to be your future, not if you don’t let it” 

Sam hoped his words were able to cool some of the storm that was being waged in the man’s head. As Sam wrapped Tony’s hand, he could see some of the tension drain from his body. But he is not delusional, Tony isn’t fully healed, not by a long shot, but he hopes that maybe the man is facing the right direction to move forward.

“Maybe you should quit your day job as a party hypnotist and go on tour as a motivational speaker” Tony snarked but not with mean-intentions.

“That’s personal party hypnotist Mr. Stark” 

“Well is there any other life-affirming advice you wish to impart on me or is this session over?”

“That depends on whether or not you wish to share anything else. All you have said was that your past life made weapons for a supposed war” Sam stood up again and repositioned himself back in his usual chair.

“Not a supposed war, it has already happened. My past life was a part of the America’s Civil War. The memory ended with South Carolina seceding”

“Interesting, it’s not too far a stretch to think that your subconscious struggles must lie in whatever actions your past life conducted during the Civil War”. Sam said, contemplating how this may affect the man whose present life is already filled with much war. Tony sat on the chaise, head turned facing the window and lips pulled in a grim line. As if he was debating on whether or not he should say anything else. Sam let him sit in the silence, allowing him to offer up any words on his own violation. 

“I…I don’t know if I want to know what Callum did, what I did”. Tony spoke softly.

“Do you wish to stop the therapy? Even though I would like you to see this through to the end, it is in your power to choose to do so if you do not feel safe or comfortable”. Tony closed his eyes at his offer of an out.

“No, its fine, at this point, I don’t think I could handle not knowing either. I guess I’m a masochist like that”. Tony said sardonically. 

“Is that all, Dr. Wilson?”

“This is all, Mr. Stark. I will see you next week”. 

\---

_5…4…3…2…1_

South Carolina, Georgia, Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, Texas. Seven states. In two short months after South Carolina first cut its ties, seven damn states seceded. It was surreal, Callum thought. He would take business trips to Georgia every year and visit the plantations there. They were neighbors, partners and friends. And now, they are not considering themselves Americans. At least not apart of the Union. The Confederate States of America is what they’re calling themselves now. 

“I wonder if this is what Great Britain felt like when we declared independence”, Callum thought faintly.

And like Great Britain, President Lincoln wasn’t letting the South go. Claiming the “mystic chords of memory” is binding the two regions. Refuses to accept any negotiation from President Davis of the Confederates. Said that it would acknowledge them as a sovereign state, which they are not. He refused to relinquish Union controlled holdings in the south, including one Fort Sumter.

Callum closed his eyes at that. Battle of Fort Sumter. The first battle of the American Civil War. Gods, we are at war with each other. It was a decisive win for the Confederates, trying to regain control of forts in the Charleston harbor of South Carolina. And now, President Lincoln is calling for volunteers to take up arms against our brethren. It was ludicrous. How could he ask us to take action against our neighbors? How can our neighbors push our nation to this breaking point?

It mattered not anyways, Callum scoffed bitterly as he eyed the rows of ammunition lining the walls. It was his most recent work, some of his best and soon it’ll be in the hands of young boys and men fighting a war of national suicide.

Callum picked up the daily paper, read it again, despite having already imprinted the words in his mind.

# RICHMOND

  


## VIRGINIA HERALD

  


###  **

EXTRA:

**

#### 

_The state of Virginia adopted the Virginia Ordinance of Secession as of April 17, 1861_  
AN ORDINANCE

####  _To repeal the ratification of the United State of America by the State of Virginia and to resume all the rights and powers granted under said Constitution._

The people of Virginia in their ratification of the Constitution of the United States of America, adopted by them in convention on the twenty-fifth day of June, in the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and eighty-eight, having declared that the powers granted under said Constitution were derived from the people of the United States and might be resumed whensoever the same should be perverted to their injury and oppression, and **the Federal Government having perverted said powers not only to the injury of the people of Virginia, but to the oppression of the Southern slave-holding States.**  


\---

_Now you determine the memory, any memory in the life of Callum that may have had a particular impact, let the memory take focus…_

Oh God.

The sick smell of charred flesh. The flailing screams of souls gone too soon. And blood painting the ground in a deep permanent red. So much red. 

This was nothing like Fort Sumter or Sewell’s Point or Phillippi and Hoke’s Run. Those were mere petty squabbles over territory with no real substance. But this, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. 

Families, wealthy elite, congressmen had all gathered on a nearby slope of Bull Hill. They came in their decorative carriages in droves. Brought baskets of food and pastries to eat as they watched what was supposed to be an easy Union victory. They were having a goddamn picnic and this war was their entertainment of the day. 

The easy chatter and smiles faded when it became clear this was not a place for children. It was not a place for anyone.

Bullets tearing through flesh, bodies dropping, swords skewering through stomachs. 

Oh God.

Make it stop.

It was chaos. The Union soldiers were being pushed back. The civilians, realizing that this outing was a foolish mistake, panicked and fled to their carriages. Only their mass panic blocked the roads back to Washington and stalled the retreating Union army, causing even more disorder. 

Callum stood there, taking in the scene as if it was a nightmare that he could not wake from. This would be a moment that he would never forget. Because it was this, which showed both sides that there will be no easy end to this conflict. The Union will not quickly squash the rebellion. The Confederates will not effortlessly overwhelm their neighbors. Their future will be paved by the blood of their brothers. 

_5…4…3…2…1_

\---

Sam took off his reading glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. He knows the story, learned about it during the mandatory US history class back in high school. But to hear a first-person recount of one the darker moments of his nation’s history, it was jarring. It was almost two centuries ago and with that time, people tend to forget the strife and struggles that left a black mark on our nation. A war that shouldn’t have had to be fought. 

Sam wondered what happened to Callum that left such an enduring mark through each past life. But a knock on the door cut his musings short.

“Dr. Wilson, your 2 o’clock” Sharon informed, mouth quirked in a knowing smile.

“Of course, show him in”. A few minutes later, a tall, broad man with an impressive shoulder to waist ratio replaced Sharon’s place at the door.

“Mr. Rogers, welcome, go ahead and take a seat. Make yourself comfortable. Director Fury has already debriefed me on your situation”, Steve Rogers gave him a shy smile and did as instructed. 

“It’s nice to meet you Dr. Wilson. Director Fury said you were one of the best”

“Oh I don’t know about that, but I’ve seen and done enough to empathize on a level that others may not be able to.”

“What unit were you with?” This was supposed to be Steve’s session not Sam’s but Sam knew that Steve needed it so he allowed it.

“Fifty-eighth, Para-rescue. And now I’m here” Steve smiled, taking comfort in a fellow military man, but then it fell strained.

“Whatever you want to talk about, whatever you need. This is your time. I’m not going to force you to share what you are unwilling to talk about. You set the boundaries and we’ll go from there,” Sam said quietly, hoping to ease the man from bolting back out the door. And Steve looked at him gratefully, turned his eyes to his clasped hand in his lap and began his story. 

“When I went under, the world was at war. I wake up, they say we won. They didn't say what we lost”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this and going over America’s bloody history was oddly fitting considering the current state of the political climate. (I didn’t intentionally plan it, I swear!) For all you non-Americans and non-Californians. There’s this movement that is going around that has been gaining traction since the general election called Yes California. Basically it’s calling for California secession from the USA. A California Brexit, a Calexit. Many people are scoffing at it calling the supporters sore losers and the like just because they don’t like the current presidential-elect especially considering California had sneered at Texas when they threatened to secede after Obama was re-elected back in 2012. But what most people don’t know is, this is a movement that has been stirring for years now, long before this year’s election. I remember when I first heard of it, over 8 years ago when I was in middle school. “California has the 6th largest economy in the world, even larger than France. California is geographically bigger than Poland. Why shouldn’t we be a sovereign nation?” That reasoning hasn’t change since. I personally think there is more to being an independent nation than just those two factors and at the time scoffed at my state too. I thought, we are American citizens and we will always be American citizens, that will never change. But going over the American Civil War, going through Brexit, and the recent election, I’m sure everyone thought that those things would never happen, it was just unthinkable. But than it did and now I’m not really sure what will happen from here on out. History shows that the world likes to do 180s so fast it gives us whiplash and you never truly know which direction the wind will blow.
> 
> TL;DR: The world likes to fuck with us sometimes.


	3. A Soldier at a Crossroad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Natasha makes a cameo! (Kinda ;D)

Callum shouldered his sack, eyes focused on the back of the man before him, trying not to think about the ache in his feet, the soreness of his back, the grime that layered his body. “Just keep marching, keep moving” Callum repeated in his head like a mantra.

Callum could see in the distance beyond the trees, the faint outlines of green hills. Hills that he last remembered were bathed in red and flesh. Over a year has passed since the First Battle of Bull Run and so much as changed since then. With a lack of manpower and volunteer, the Confederacy issued a draft for all men of age. Of course, Callum could have bought his way out of the draft, if it were not for his rat bastard of a father. Said war would put some hair on his chest - that it would be good for him and then refused to cover the draft fees.

So here Callum was, trudging alongside several thousand men under General Lee’s command. The Union has been trying to gain control of Virginia since the very inception of the war. After Virginia joined the Confederacy, it was rewarded with the Confederate Capitol in Richmond due to its industry and factories. His hometown was the only large-scale industrial city in the Confederacy. Having the Capitol and the bulk of the army here allowed for easy restocking of supplies. It was a logistically sound move, but also a dangerous one. 

Virginia lies at the border of the Confederacy and the Union, not even a hundred miles south of the Union’s capital in Washington. Losing Virginia would be the equivalent of ripping out the heart of the Confederacy, the South would not be able to last long without its main supply of guns, ammunitions and weapons factory along with the numerous textile plants. President Davis, most likely recognized this, which is why so many of our forces, including Commanding General Lee, remained to defend Virginia. 

So far, the Union has been unsuccessful in their campaign. Their most recent engagement lasted seven days. Seven days of wave after wave of fighting until finally, his division was able to force a retreat from the Union general McClellan. However, their intelligence warned that Lincoln replaced McClellan with a new general hoping that fresh blood would gain some ground in Virginia, starting with Bull Run.

The sun was beginning to set below the horizon before the troops finally made it to their destination for the night. An unfinished railroad below Stony Ridge a little north of the old battlegrounds. 

“Attention men!” General Lee bellowed. “We will divide our numbers into two wings. Left wing under Major General Jackson, you will be taking a defensive stand here at Stony Ridge and then on the morn, lead an offensive attack on the Union column just east of Gainesville. This will draw out the Union’s focus. Meanwhile, the right wing, lead by Major General Longstreet, will make their way through the Thoroughfare Gap. The Union’s defense there is sparse and should be easily overwhelmed. Once through, the right wing will swoop in to crush the Union’s left flank. The cavalry units will serve as reconnaissance and pursuit of any stray Yankee scum. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!” The men resounded.

The men swiftly divided. Callum was amongst the main attack wing so he began to set up camp for the night as Longstreet’s men moved out. Callum spread himself out on his bedroll, pulling out a faded, gold pocket watch. Flipping open the watch to see the worn portrait inside as he did ritually every night. An elderly man, winkles prominent, but exuded a certain warmth and sitting in his lap was a young boy with messy dark hair and bright eyes. Rolling over to his side, he brought the pocket watch to rest next to his head and let the ticking lull him asleep.

At daybreak, a sharp whistle jarred Callum awake. Reflexively, he began to gather his few possessions and gathered in formation with the other men. Callum could see the dark blue of the Union’s uniform jackets bellow the hill. Major General Jackson had the men stand in full view of the Union army on top of Stony Ridge, like an arrogant challenge. 

There was a beat of silence where only the rustling of the leaves and the distant chirps of mockingbirds could be heard. Then a piercing, deep blare of the horn cuts through the air and we charged. The previous silence filled with gunshots, roaring yells and footsteps. Callum could see bodies drop out of the corner of his eyes, but his pace did not slow. Raising his rifle, he fired as he continued his charge. Finally, both army lines merged in an angry clash. 

Aim. Fire. Aim. Fire.

Callum repeated methodically. Anything in dark blue. They’re just moving target practice. 

A harsh shove blindsided him from behind. Callum fell towards the ground, but quickly righted himself. Unfortunately, he lost his rifle in the process. However, Callum is a man with back-ups to his back-ups. He whipped out his saber and swiftly severed the Union soldier’s hand that was holding the gun. The soldier grasped his severed hand and let out a strangled scream. While he was distracted, Callum thrust his saber forward and pierced through his stomach. From over the Yankee’s shoulder, Callum could see the man’s blood smear across his sword, slowly dripping from the tip and coloring the dirt below. The man fisted his hands into Callum’s jacket and from his position, Callum could see the pupils of the man’s eyes dilate, the freckles across his nose and the snarl on his chapped lips.

“Traitorous southern bastard!” Those where the Yankee’s last words before his body fell backwards and slid off of Callum’s sword, crumpling in a head at his feet.

Callum stood stock still in the middle of a battlefield, ears ringing so loud that the sounds of battle blurred out of focus. This isn’t his first kill. Not by a long shot. And yet…

_Traitorous southern bastard!_

A hot searing pain ripped through his left shoulder as a bullet grazed him and Callum quickly reoriented himself to the action around him. Now is not the time to fall apart. The noon sun was perched high in the sky as the fighting wore on in a seeming stalemate. Until to the Union’s left, General Longstreet and the right wing finally arrived and completely obliterated the Union’s left flank. The cavalry unit charged, picking off the retreating Yankees with their artillery cannons. His men threw their hands up and cheered. It was a clear Confederate victory - that did not feel like much of a victory - not to Callum.

_Traitorous southern bastard!_

\---

Elegant dining room, extravagant chandelier, fine cutlery, things that Callum should be used to, after all, this was his lifestyle. But those years felt like a distant dream after so many nights sleeping on cold dirt, eating stale hardtack and bathing in streams. Here, where the war has yet to seep in its tainted hands, felt so _clean_. Untouchable.

General Lee and his commanding officers were invited to the White House of the Confederacy to dine with President Davis and his wife, Varina Davis. Callum had quickly gained the rank of Lieutenant Colonel for innovative, tactical skills and thus was forced, invited to attend. This was a pre-celebratory dinner before Lee’s army would begin its invasion of the North. A godforsaken invasion. This was supposed to be a defense of the South and her holdings, not a conquest. The thought turned the fine meal in front of him bitter.

There was nothing Callum could do about it now. The plans were set and General Lee was not to be deterred. So instead, he looked around the long table and observed his dinner companions. At the far end of the table, sat President Davis with General Lee to his right, most likely talking about the South’s current holdings and campaigns. On the President’s left were Lady Davis and her female companion, Lady Elizabeth Van Lew. 

Callum used to run in the same social circles as Lady Van Lew. She was an unmarried spinster, wealthy from her late father’s inheritance and lived with her mother in their three-story mansion. However lately, there were many rumors abound, smearing Lady Van Lew’s reputation. Said she was a disgrace of a southern lady for volunteering and providing aid at the Libby Prison, which was exclusively used for Union prisoners. Callum figured she was simply conducting southern charity, which held no harm. 

As if sensing his thoughts, Lady Van Lew turned and met his eyes over the clatter of the soldiers around him. Her eyes, a deep blue, almost gray even, and absolutely piercing. She maintained eye contact until Callum felt the need to look away first. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her lips quirk in a smirk of victory.

When dinner finally ended and everyone moved into the parlor to socialize, Callum excused himself and made his way outside to the stables. Maybe a quick ride would ease his mind.

Turning the corner, he rammed into one of the maids, accidentally knocking her basket of eggs to the ground. 

“I’m sorry miss, that was my fault, my mind was wandering” Callum apologized and bent low to help her pick up the shattered eggshells.

“It’s quite alright sir, please, no need to sully yourself. I can clean it up myself” The maid bustled, trying to snatch all the pieces before Callum could assist her. 

_Almost as if, she had something to hide._

Callum shot his hand out quickly, grabbing the one egg that despite being cracked was suspiciously dry. Callum could see the instant pallor that befell the maid. Spine taunt as if she could not decide whether to attempt to snatch the egg back or to run. At the bottom the egg, was a hole, carefully made. And inside was not yolk or whites, but a crumpled piece of paper ripped into strips. The enormity of the situation crashed over Callum like an icy rolling wave.

“Mary, if you could please leave us” a voice rang out. Callum whipped his head towards the intruder. Standing beneath the flickering gas lamp was the regal posture of Lady Van Lew.

“She is going nowhere. Not if she is what I think she is,” Callum hissed. But Lady Van Lew simply raised a single thin eyebrow at him.

“Mary, if you please” Lady Van Lew repeated and Mary wasted no time scurrying away from Callum’s scornful gaze. 

“You’re a spy”, Callum said half-hysterical. A southern lady, Yankee spy.

“And what, pray tell, made you come to this conclusion?” 

“Oh, I know not, how about the crumpled pieces of paper hidden in a hollow egg shell?” Callum said, voice dripping in mocking discontent.

“If you look at the papers, sir, you will find that they are blank. Harmless really” The audacity of the woman! She looked unfazed, face carefully blank as if she was not committing high treason.

“Harmless? Why would you need to hide papers in an empty egg if not to struggle out Confederate secrets? And I wager that these papers are not quite as blank as they seem. What did you use? Clear ink?” Lady Van Lew’s eyes never strayed from his, much like during dinner, but this time, Callum will not back down. 

“You will not say anything” She said it so matter-of-factly, as if it was the truth and not a command, that Callum wanted to burst out in a manic laughter.

“What in heavens makes you think that?” 

“Because I have done nothing wrong” Callum couldn’t help but let his jaw drop at that notion. Eyes wide in disbelief. 

“You’re betraying the Confederacy!”

“Did not the Confederacy betray our country first? I am merely a loyal lady, willing to lay down my life to preserve and sustain my country. How is that dishonorable or betrayal?” Lady Van Lew said bluntly with absolute conviction in her voice. “And I have a good feeling that you may feel that same way”

“How could you say that? I am not a traitor!” _Traitorous southern bastard!_ A ghost of a voice rang in his head. “I am not!” Callum insisted.

“That’s right. You’re not. You never wanted this divide either. You still feel a connection to your northern brethren, don’t’ you? After all, this is your home, that you love so very dearly. And your fellow men are tearing it apart. No, I do not think you are a traitor at all” She needled, hitting every point, every doubt that Callum held so close to his chest.

“Silence! You know nothing!” But she did.

“Do I?” And she knew it. Callum let his eyes close, feeling like his body was tied between two horses charging in different directions. And he did not know how much longer he could keep himself from being ripped apart.

“I know not what to do. I am but a mere man. What do you want from me?” Callum murmured, feeling for the first time in years, utterly lost and unsure. 

“Funny, I did not take you for a man who would settle for what has been given to him” Lady Van Lew finally dared to take a few steps closer, until she was at arms length before him. 

“All my life, I have been taught that this was the way the world ran. This is the line, do not cross it”

“And how is that complacency treating your state of mind?”

“Not very well” Callum answered honestly. 

“And do you wish to do anything about it?”

“I do not know,” he said softly. “I truly do not know…” Lady Van Lew seems to accept that answer. Nodded and turned to lean against the stable walls.

“As you know, I grew up here in Virginia. I love my home. But father felt that an education up north would be more preferable. So I spent my formative years among the Quakers in Philadelphia.”

“I see, so you are a Negro sympathizer” 

“Human sympathizer” She bit back, eyes lit up in righteous fury. “Can you honestly tell me, that you do not feel anything for the plight of black people, anything at all?”

He couldn’t. Because an image of a young friend with a book of fairy tales filled his head. 

“There was someone, wasn’t there?” Lady Van Lew stated. Was he truly this open of a book that a near stranger could read him so accurately? 

“If you say there is, then it must be so” Callum said, resigned to his fate at this woman’s hands. “Yes, there was a boy, a friend even”.

“What happened to him?”

“He wanted to read and I wanted to teach him. And then we were caught.” He listed the events as if it was someone else’s story. “My father had beaten me with his belt, than whipped him. With each lash, he said that it was my fault - that I was the reason for the Terrance’s pain. And then…I do not know what happened to him after that.”

“You don’t?” And for the first time, Lady Van Lew seemed surprised. Callum counted that as a minor victory. 

“No, I think – I think my father knew that the unknown would hurt more. So he sent him away to another plantation, far enough removed that I wouldn’t be able to find him. Too far, to know if he is okay or not. For any closure. And after that, I realized I couldn’t get close to another slave, not if I wanted to keep my sanity” Callum flashed her a bitter smile. “I have been complacent with a system that feeds off of pain and suffering of others and is paid by human lives”.

Lady Van Lew’s face held no judgment at his misdeeds though. Perfectly void as if Callum was reciting the alphabet.

“When I came back home after finishing my schooling, after learning how wrong slavery is, I tried to appeal to my father to set our slaves free. But he was a southern gentleman through and through. So for years, I watched as the people, who have hearts and souls that beat like mine, suffer under my father. My family…we have quite a few black marks to our legacy, marks that I hope I can clear. And when the war broke out, I knew I could not sit back and watch the country I love get torn apart by a system that steals away the freedom of others”

“So you do this, smuggle out Confederate secrets as well as providing supplies and aid to the Union captives at Libby Prison”

“The prison aid is just mere southern charity and if they have any last words that they wish to share with me, who am I to deny them a listening ear. And no one cares for the actions of an eccentric unmarried spinster with no pursuits of her own. After all, a woman is incapable of smuggling information to Union prisoners and aiding their escape or installing a spy as a maid to Jackson Davis’s wife. Or developing a spy network so efficient that Union General Grant receives fresh flowers from this very garden alongside the daily Richmond paper. We simply do not have the mind, nor endurance for such an unladylike activity”

“You, Lady Van Lew, are a terrifying woman”

“Thank you, that is the loveliest compliment I have ever received” And she gave him a small smile, one that Callum thinks, might be genuine. She curtsied and bid her goodbyes. But Callum could not let her leave just yet.

“Why did you tell me all this? All your secrets? I could still out you. Tear apart your intelligence system to General Lee and President Davis”

“Now Callum, I think you should know by now that I would not freely give you _all_ of my secrets” She said with a wry smile and turned to leave but not before one last parting phrase.

“Besides, I have always been a gambling woman – a terrible vice really, but I have not lost yet”

_5…4…3…2…1_

\---

“Things aren’t so bad. Food’s a lot better, we used to boil everything. No polio is good. Internet, so helpful. I’ve been reading that a lot trying to catch up”. Sam smiled at Steve’s rambling. He’s an easy-to-like guy. Open and honest and wholly like his namesake. 

“It just takes some getting used to is all”. However, the smile on Steve’s face didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“It’s your bed, right?”

“What?”

“You’re probably used to sleeping on the ground, using rocks for pillows. Now, it’s like…”

“Lying on a marshmallow. I feel like I’m gonna sink right to the floor”. Sam smiles and nods in agreement.

“It’s hard, coming back home when most of your life was out there”

“But you’re happy now, back in the world?” Steve asked as if Sam’s answer would be validation that things would be okay

“Hey, the number of people giving me orders is down to about zero. So, hell, yeah. You thinking about getting out? 

“No. I don't know. To be honest, I don't know what I would do with myself if I did.”

“Ultimate fighting?” That got a laugh out of Steve. “It's just a great idea off the top of my head. But seriously, you could do whatever you want to do. What makes you happy?”

And despite Steve’s large frame, he never looked so small, shoulders hunched over, forehead resting on this clasped hands. 

“I don't know.”

\---

He thought he saw the worst of it at Antietam. He did not know it then, but it would be the bloodiest single-day battle on American soil in history. Over ten thousand men, good men, either dead, injured or missing. And this was solely Confederate loses. Despite the high casualties, General Lee refused to stop skirmishing with General McClellan as the rest of the army retreated south of the Potomac where thankfully the Union did not pursue, else there be even greater losses. It was as if their lives were mere fodder, irrelevant to Lee’s campaign. 

He had assumed that crippling losses would stop General Lee’s northern invasion - that they would head home and defend their borders. And they did, but that did not last long. A resounding victory at Chancellorville a year later only spurred him to try again. Only this time, he aimed even farther north than Maryland.

It was a massacre. Three times as long and over twice as many causalities then Antietam. During the third and final day of battle, they had launched a ruthless artillery bombardment on the Union lines and when the Union stopped returning fire, we had assumed they ran out of ammunition and thus Major General Pickett ordered an infantry assault across the fields of Gettysburg. 

Callum’s world blurred at the edges of his eyes, heart palpitating so fast it hurt, his legs could no longer support his weight and he fell to his knees on the dirt floor. He does not think he can to look at the sky anymore without seeing the hell storm of artillery raining down on them. The ground exploding around them, kicking up dirt and creating a brown fog. The cannons ripping clear through bodies. And the screams, Callum can still hear the screams. It was a feint, the Union knew what was coming, saved their artillery and bided their time. 

And on the last day, on July goddamn fourth, they stood there and stared at each other in the heavy rain. The rain flooded the battlefield, creating a shallow lake of red from the blood. Waited for another attack that did not come, then gathered their wounded and made the arduous trek home.

He did not know what he was fighting for anymore. At first, it was to protect Virginia, his beloved home, or maybe it was to protect his fellow soldiers. 

Or maybe it was all one massive lie and he fought because that was what he was expected to do.

_“And how is that complacency treating your state of mind?”_

He could hear Lady Van Lew’s voice, crisp and sharp. She was right, he did nothing to expose her and her web of lies she weaved under the Confederate’s nose. And he wondered, if there would ever be a time where he would have convictions as solid as hers. And maybe that was why he was here. The source of his most recent nightmares. 

There was an uncharacteristic lull of recent attacks on Virginia so he made the march back to the fields of Gettysburg alone. Maybe he needed to make his peace with the mindless slaughter that had happened on these grounds. Or maybe he was punishing himself, he knows not which is the answer.

But as he made his way to the edge of the field, he noticed a large gathering of people, Union supporters, and quickly hid behind the row of trees and out of view. It was not just Union soldiers that composed the large crush of people, but there appears to be civilians as well. A small wooden platform had been set up in the middle of Gettysburg before the crowd. Interest piqued, Callum held his position. 

He did not have to wait long. A procession of carriages rolled to a stop on the outskirts of the field. And out of the middle carriage, finer than the ones that surrounded it, stepped out the tall, striking figure of Abraham Lincoln, President of the Union. People swarmed him as his bodyguards held them back, but there was no mistaking his signature top hat amongst the sea of people. President Lincoln took to the stage and an immediate hush fell on the crowd. And even from Callum’s perch, he could easily hear the deep timbre of his voice as it vibrated through the former battleground.

_“Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal._

  
_Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this._

_But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”_

Callum was in awe. The presence the man carried, the words that struck him so deeply. He would have laughed had he not been afraid of being caught. For three long years, Callum has been floundering in a state of unknown and now, in just over two minutes, he has never felt so light.

_That this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom_

First and foremost, he needs to seek out a certain southern lady.

\---

Callum charged through the thick forestry trying not to trip on the trees’ thick roots while avoiding gunfire. The problem with being a Union spy was not being able to kill the people who had no qualms shooting at you. It was a bit of an inconvenience really.

He wonders if it will be too much to ask Lady Van Lew to let General Grant know not to kill him. It will have the negative consequence of outing him as a turncoat but at very least he would not be killed by the very people he is trying to help. 

A bullet sped millimeters from his head and embedded itself in the bark of the tree next to him. Dammit, this battle was going nowhere. It was their first encounter with the famed General Ulysses S. Grant who, up until this point, had led the Union campaign on the western front. But it appears he is now in charge of conquering Virginia, where so many others have failed before him.   
They were trying to cut through the wilderness of Spotsylvania and make their way to the heart of Virginia, but General Lee’s army was dispatched to repulse them. Unfortunately, for both sides, the dense underbrush is proving to be a hindrance as it was difficult to maneuver in. 

So this is the situation that Callum found himself in, running around the dense woods, purposely missing when shooting at Union soldiers and trying to not get shot himself. 

While mentally grumbling about his plight, a man bursted out of the bushes and caught Callum off guard. The man was able to swipe a blow to Callum’s chin using the blunt end of his rifle and caused him to drop his own gun. His vision went blurry, but he could make out the dark blue of his jacket, signaling his Union allegiance.

This is not good. 

There are not many options, he would need to carefully injure without maiming the man and then make an escape. He grabbed at the soldier’s rifle leading to a tug-o-war of sorts between them. Behind the man, Callum saw a particularly large root jutting out from the ground and grinned. Without warning, Callum went from pulling to pushing at the gun and using the sudden shift of momentum to throw the man off-balance and tripping over the root. What he did not expect, was for the man to hook his foot behind his and drag him down with him. 

They landed hard, Callum sprawled across the man’s completely solid body. Neither of them moved for a beat, having had the wind knocked out of them. They were so close that Callum could see the gold specks in his eyes. 

They are hazel, Callum thought faintly.

Bullets rained above them, biting into the trees and snapped them out of their daze. Callum reacted first, pushed himself off the man and ran before the soldier can put a bullet through his back. 

It was not long after, that the battle came to an end. General Lee ordered the troops to set up camp for the night. And Callum digged through his sack to pull out his pocket watch as per his custom. Only to come up short. He silently panicked, trying not to draw the attention of the men around him. Emptied out his sack and all his pockets to no avail. 

He must have lost it during the scuffle with the Union solider. Callum could feel his heart sinking - there would be no finding it now. Even if he remembered exactly where he dropped it, it was too dangerous to make the trek back out into the wilderness where there may be Union stragglers. 

Callum tallied it as another piece of himself that he lost to the war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth Van Lew is a real Union spy during the war and kind of a bad ass. She made her own cipher code and used clear ink that turned black with milk. The hollow eggshell thing was an actual method she developed which worked well as she owned a farm on the outskirts of Virginia. She developed and managed her own spy ring in the heart of the Confederacy. Her intelligence system was apparently more efficient the post office at the time. General Grant even stopped by her house for tea and to thank her for her help after the war ended. I figured one of the most efficient spies of the Civil War would be an acceptable past life for our favorite Russian. She did not have a happy ending in real life but I've elected to ignore it because, well, it's Natasha Rommanoff :D
> 
> And I know there's hardly any Steve so far but the next chapter should be Steve heavy if not completely Steve-centric.


End file.
